


Somnium

by voxanonymi (spasmodicIntrigue)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Fever, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, jk i'm not sorry in the slightest, oops sorry noct, the ignoct is ambiguously platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasmodicIntrigue/pseuds/voxanonymi
Summary: You could take the prince out of Insomnia, but you couldn’t take the insomnia out of the prince.Sleep deprivation was a bitch of a thing when a whole kingdom, six gods, and an entire backlog of magical ancestors expected you to step up. When everything is crashing down on your head, a little serenity goes a long way.





	Somnium

**Author's Note:**

> Take heed of the graphic violence warning + blood and injury tag. There's a particular line which might squick you out if you're sensitive to descriptions of flesh wounds. I'm pretty squeamish myself. I felt fine _writing_ it, and reading it over and such, but it's different when you're reading for the first time, I think. So I thought I'd better drop a specific warning.

Sometimes, Noctis couldn’t sleep.

His friends joked about his ability to drop off anywhere, anytime. But for all that he loved his rest, there were times when he rolled, bone-tired, into his nest of blankets in the tent and just could. Not. Sleep. Regardless of how tired he was, or how long he’d been awake and on his feet, he lay there, eyes pinned open as if by some malevolent magic. Listening to his friends’ even breathing and soft snoring. Waiting, waiting, waiting, yearning to join them in slumber.

You could take the prince out of Insomnia, but you couldn’t take the insomnia out of the prince.

Some nights he’d get lucky enough to eventually drop off into a haze of uncomfortable grey dreams. Shifting faces and unknown places, unshakeable unease and an immovable, incomprehensible, totally illogical _dread_. A gut-sinking feeling which followed him into the morning’s light; a light like weak tea, and Noctis felt much the same.

On the bright side, he crawled out of the tent earlier than usual these days, to approving—if a bit teasing and disbelieving—comments from his friends.

And on one morning, when he’d gotten what barely felt like a few minutes of delirious shut-eye, this:

“Are you sue you’ve had enough sleep, Noct?” Ignis asked, glancing over from the camp stove. That all-too-familiar expression of concern coloured the face behind the spectacles.

Noctis shrugged, slumping into his camp chair to lace up his boots. “I’m awake, aren’t I?”

“I’d say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Iggy,” Gladio put in. “Right, your Moodiness?”

Noctis flipped him off and turned his attention to his second boot. Ignis pursed his lips but said nothing further.

Fifteen minutes later, Noctis had barely touched his plate of eggs. His exhaustion hung about him like a sickly veil, trapping the fumes of his own discontent for him to breathe in and out, again and again. Filling his lungs, his heart, his head, _and_ his stomach. It was hard to eat under such conditions.

Of course, Ignis—ever-watchful Ignis—could hardly refrain from comment.

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright, Noct?”

Prompto and Gladio looked over, too, eyebrows raised in intimidatingly equal-and-opposite reflections of Concern. Getting up early was one thing, but not eating was another. Sometimes Noctis forgot that his friends seemed to keep a checklist of things wrong with him, and two items at once was cause for raised eyebrows all ‘round.

Again, he shrugged. “Not really hungry. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

That seemed to be enough for Prompto, who grimaced and said, “Sucks, dude,” and Gladio, who offered his own shrug before hauling himself up to start packing up the tent.

Ignis leant over and placed the back of his hand on Noctis’ forehead.

“You are a little warm,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ll press on for today, but if at any point you feel you need a break, be sure to speak up.”

A flare of irritation cut through the tired haze. He swatted Ignis’ hand away. “I said I _might_ be coming down with something. It’s not a big deal.”

Ignis’ brows pinched together. “Noct—”

“Just leave it alone, Specs!”

With guilt already welling in his throat, Noctis stood and went to help Gladio. His Shield gave him an inscrutable look, but said nothing.

It wasn’t long before they had broken camp and were ready to go. They left Mynbrum Haven behind and followed the river north through Upper Wennath.

Their errands here were three-fold. Dave had asked them to fetch a dog tag, Dino a stone, and there was a sizeable bounty on a particularly cantankerous group of sahagins. Smaller, more placid groups lounged on the riverside rocks in the morning sun, content to watch with beady eyes as the four black-clad intruders gave them a wide berth. They were all too eager to avoid unnecessary conflict with the razer-toothed reptiles.

Plus, they couldn’t exactly murder everything in their path. They weren’t in the business of decimating wildlife and destroying the ecosystem. They just wanted to fetch some extra gil for weapons, fuel, and supplies between Royal Arm retrievals.

Noctis’ childish outburst at camp was quickly forgotten.

Soon enough, they came across their target: five sahagins, _much_ larger than the regular breed. They tromped agitatedly up and down the bank, in and out of the water, snapping at plants with their trademark choppers.

Noctis et al. huddled behind a nearby rock outcropping.

“They’re agitated,” Ignis murmured. “But why?”

“I think I know why,” breathed Prompto. He gulped. “Look at their eyes.”

Noctis looked. At first, he saw nothing too far out of the ordinary, but as the nearest sahagin clamped its teeth around an unsuspecting shrub, he noticed. The reptile’s normally-yellow eyes gleamed an eerie, sickly red, a coarse haze of black emanating outwards. The scales around the beast’s eyes were palpably blackened.

“We’ve seen this before,” Gladio grunted.

“Too many times,” Prompto agreed.

The sahagins were afflicted—and likely mutated—by starscourge.

“All the more reason to put ‘em down,” said Noctis, producing a blizzara flask.

“You have a plan?” Ignis questioned.

“Sure. I toss this, then we attack.”

Ignis sighed. “Keep as much distance as you can.”

“And don’t get bit,” Gladio added, summoning his greatsword.

“Ready?” At his friends’ nods, Noctis hurled the flask into the centre of the group.

 

Noctis soon realised he may have underestimated just how sleep-deprived he was. After tossing the flask, he waited for his friends to engage the frosted monsters before summoning his javelin (all the better to keep his distance with) and warp-striking the furthest sahagin.

The dizziness that lapped at him as he landed the strike was far from severe, but it was enough to unsteady him; slow him; occupy the frame of opportunity for him to follow up the strike. The sahagin flung around to face him, jaws snapping, blood flowing from the wound in its flank. Noctis leapt back out of reach, brandishing his javelin as the sahagin, hurt and enraged, advanced with abandon.

A berserk sahagin was dangerous, yes—to itself, as much as anyone else. As its mouth stretched open, Noctis dug in his heels and pushed forwards and upwards with the javelin, shoving the spearhead through the soft palate and out the top of its head.

The sickly glow faded from its eyes. A quick death for an afflicted beast.

“Noct, behind you!”

At Prompto’s call, Noctis whipped about, hastily re-summoning his javelin to deflect the rows of forearm-length teeth flying at his face. He narrowly avoided a brutal makeover, but the force and weight of the sahagin overbalanced him. His lungs emptied in an instant as his back hit the solid rock. Noctis had never been great at multitasking, but it was particularly difficult to gasp for air _and_ keep both hands on his javelin, holding off the sahagin as it desperately tried to make a meal of his head.

A flash of metal in the corner of his eye, and the sahagin flew off him, ripping the javelin out of his hands along with it. The resounding splash to his left told him where the beast had ended up.

Gladio leapt over him to finish it off. Ignis appeared in his periphery, kneeling at his side to help him up as he fully dedicated himself to the task of convincing his lungs to work properly.

Noctis looked around. Gladio was in the river, Ignis beside him. Prompto was strolling over, looking put off. All accounted for. Good. His friends had taken care of the other three beasts, one with an underbelly full of bullet holes, another with a severed snout, and another with a neat hole through the top of its head—not unlike the one Noctis had taken out.

The fifth was now floating downstream in a cloud of red. Noctis made a mental note not to drink from this river, like… ever. So much for not destroying the ecosystem.

“You didn’t hit your head?” Ignis asked, performing his usual post-battle check-Noct-for-injuries routine.

“Nah, just everything else,” Noctis intoned, feeling achy and rotten now that he could finally breathe again. He turned to Prompto, who watched the adrift sahagin corpse with a familiar distaste. “Thanks for the heads-up, Prompto.”

Prompto looked up as if startled, then grinned. “Hey, anytime, bud!”

“And?” Gladio was sitting on the rocks shaking water out of his shoes.

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the assist, Gladio.”

“All in a day’s work,” Gladio said, in that falsely modest tone he had perfected.

“So!” Prompto began. “What next? Dog tag?”

“Should be around here somewhere, if I’m not mistaken,” said Ignis.

“I think next is break time,” said Noctis.

Gladio, having pulled his shoes back on, stood. “Dog tag, stone, _then_ break.”

Noctis groaned. “Aren’t you guys supposed to listen to me?”

“That _was_ a gruelling bout,” Ignis reasoned. “It wouldn’t be unwise to rest and rehydrate—especially in this humidity.”

Noctis constantly thanked the Astrals for Ignis.

Gladio let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. “Most of us aren’t big princely babies who need to take a nap after every fight. I’ll find the damn dog tag myself.” With that, he set off up the bank towards the trees, grabbing Prompto by the upper arm as he passed. “You’re coming, too.”

“Huh? What? Me? Uh—okay!” Prompto threw an apologetic grimace over his shoulder as he was dragged off.

“Guess that solves that problem,” said Noctis.

“And not entirely inefficiently,” Ignis agreed. “Come, let’s find somewhere more… serene.”

It _was_ nice by the riverside, just markedly less so when the rocky shore was strewn with bloodied reptile corpses. Definitely not Noctis’ idea of ‘serene’. He followed Ignis up the bank and into the cooling cover of the trees.

They stopped just out of sight of the river. Noctis slumped against a wide tree, running on less than empty now that the adrenaline from the battle had faded. He had wobbly limbs, an anxious knot in his stomach, and a head which was at once all too heavy and dizzyingly light. He slid down until he sat with his back against the bark, closing his eyes and letting out a weary sigh.

“Here.”

Noctis opened his eyes. Ignis was holding a bottle of water in front of his face.

“Thanks,” he said. He took the bottle and drank from it in sips, somehow finding himself unable or unwilling to gulp down the water in his usual post-battle manner.

Ignis sat quietly beside him. “So… are you coming down with something, or not?”

Mid-sip, a gust of shame blew over Noctis. He lowered the bottle.

“Probably not,” he admitted. “I’m… sorry about earlier.”

“Apology accepted,” Ignis said warmly. “Something else on your mind, then?”

Noctis took his time before replying. Ignis, familiar with this dance, waited silently.

“I can’t sleep,” Noctis eventually said. “It hasn’t been happening for me. Every night I’m so exhausted, but I… can’t.”

“Nightmares?”

“No. Sort of.” Noctis fidgeted. “When I manage _some_ form of unconsciousness, yeah, but even then it feels less like sleep and more like I’m… lying there hallucinating, or—or something.” He brought his fist down onto the soft dirt at the base of the tree. “I just want to _sleep_. I hate it!”

Ignis sighed. “In retrospect, your recent early rising makes sense. I should have said something sooner.”

It was an entirely ridiculous but completely expected thing to hear. “It’s fine,” Noctis said miserably. _He_ was the one who should have said something sooner. “It’s all this stuff in my head. I can’t focus.” He clenched his fists, letting out a terse breath through his teeth. “Can’t sleep because I can’t focus. Can’t focus because I can’t sleep. Can’t sleep, can’t focus, _how_ am I supposed to—” He couldn’t finish. He felt the tell-tale heat in his face, behind his eyes, and knew if he continued he would end up sobbing. This was humiliating enough as it was.

_How am I supposed to take down the Empire? How am I supposed to win the Gods’ favour? How am I supposed to help Luna? How am I supposed to be a king and lead people and make Dad proud?_

But this was Ignis, who had a funny way of extrapolating Noctis’ thoughts from his botched, inelegant words. His hand landed between Noctis’ shoulder blades, above the scar stretched and warped by twelve years of growth.

“Because you are capable,” Ignis said, voice tinged with tender urgency—like he _needed_ Noctis to understand. “You must have faith, Noct—faith in yourself. No problem is so great that it cannot be overcome, even if it takes a while to figure out.” He took a breath. “We address the problems we _can_ solve, and in so doing, learn how to solve the problems which had previously left us confounded.”

Noctis looked at him. Ignis’ earnest green gaze implored trust—and Noctis did trust him, so he nodded.

Ignis smiled, warm and compassionate, and gave Noctis’ shoulder a brief squeeze before retracting his arm. “We’ll meet up with Prompto and Gladio and return to Lestallum for a spell. I myself will rest easier knowing that—”

For the briefest second, Noctis wondered what had cut him off. Then he heard it too: the unwelcome drone of an Imperial dropship overhead.

“Now, of all times?” Noctis growled, shifting into a crouch and glancing up. The tree canopy was thick, but the ship’s metal chassis was visible in glimpses through the leaves. “There’s no way they can see us, is there?”

“Not _us_ , no,” replied Ignis, eyes fixed on the ship as it dropped altitude towards the treetops. “I suspect the aftermath of our recent hunt may have given us away.”

Right. Blood on rocks in direct sunlight—they may as well have lit a beacon with a banner that said _all MTs and MAs welcome!_

“Shit,” Noctis cursed under his breath.

They watched as the ship slowed to a halt. Not directly above them, but close enough that they didn’t dare move from the relative safety of the large tree they crouched behind. Not when they were half a party short.

The dropship’s hydraulics sighed and groaned as the door opened, depositing three imposing figures amidst the trees some fifty feet away. Dark armour, a blade in each robotic hand: Magitek Assassins. Noctis’ least favourite model, because when they started swinging those blades, it was impossible to get close to them without getting shredded.

There were only three, but it was enough to outnumber them. Especially considering the sorry state of Noctis’ health.

The MTs began to fan out. Soon enough, they would stumble across Noctis and Ignis. If they moved now, it would only draw attention.

“Should we call the others?” Noctis breathed.

“No,” Ignis replied. “If they’re nearby and their phones aren’t on silent, it would give them away.”

“So the MTs would be distracted. Then _we_ could hit them from behind.”

“Assuming Prompto and Gladio went in the wrong direction to find the dog tag and Dino’s stone?”

“Good point,” Noctis conceded. “What, then?”

“Ordinarily, I’d suggest a strategic retreat,” Ignis whispered. “But we don’t know where the other two are or if they saw the dropship. If not, they could still be on their way back and effectively returning to an ambush.”

“And if they _did_ see it?”

“Then they may be nearby, or on their way towards us, in much the same situation as ourselves. Alternatively, they could still be far off and blissfully unaware.”

Noctis scowled. He was really not in the mood for this bullshit. “So we can’t do anything on our own because we’ll get minced, but we can’t leave because the other two might be nearby or on their way back. And we can’t do nothing, because they’ll find us eventually. X marks the Noct,” he added bitterly.

“A conundrum, to be sure.”

“I blame Gladio.”

Ignis said nothing for a long, painful moment, watching the MTs shamble through the undergrowth. That signature lurching stride of theirs never failed to give Noctis the creeps.

One of them had drawn distressingly close. Noctis hardly dared breathe for fear that it would look a little to the right and spot them. The other two, at least, had lurched off in the other direction.

“We _can_ take them out on our own,” Ignis said suddenly. “Stealth is key.” He pointed at the furthest MT, whose back was to them. “If you’re feeling up to it?”

A warp-kill. Of course. To be truthful, Noctis wasn’t feeling ‘up to it’, but it wasn’t like he could afford to be choosy.

“Sure,” he said.

Ignis nodded. “I’ll take care of our fair-weather friend, here. If you can, you might be able to take out the third with another warp—but take cover if the strain proves too much.”

“I’ll be fine,” Noctis assured him.

“Right. On my mark. Three… two… one!”

Noctis threw his blade as he summoned it, slamming into the MT’s back a split second later. His aim was uncanny, impaling the trooper’s magitek core dead centre. But, again, Noctis found his breath stolen away. Not by the impact of the warp or the mild dizziness it brought, but by the unexpected—if not unfamiliar—surge of nausea rolling up from his stomach, into his throat, preceding the deep ache that crept across his skull. Sluggishness dropped onto his limbs like iron shackles.

Stasis. He was in stasis. After _one_ warp, he was in _stasis_.

He wasn’t sure how long he crouched there, shaking, bracing himself on the dead MT’s back, but just as he felt a trickle of magic return, he heard a rustling behind him, followed by a mechanical pivot and a yell.

“Noct!”

Even in panic, his movement was subdued. He turned, too late, raising his arm to summon a sword. The MT’s first blade scored deep into his shoulder and down his raised arm’s bicep. The second bit into his ribs, not so deeply, but painfully nonetheless.

As he fell back he heard a crack of thunder, saw a flash of lightning, and Ignis was there, shoving the MT aside in a spray of red sparks.

“Holy shit,” breathed Noctis, just as Ignis turned to him, expression stricken, and demanded, “Are you alright?”

Hardly a beat passed before Ignis continued, “No, you’re bleeding—let me see.” He stepped over the corpse of the MT Noctis had killed, and knelt at his side.

Noctis looked down at his arm. Oh, that—yeah, it was bleeding. A lot. The cut was so deep that the sides had pulled open like lips over bared teeth, blood flowing steadily. A fresh whirl of nausea engulfed him. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the rising bile.

Shortly, he heard the crack of a potion being activated, and opened his eyes as the burning in his arm and stinging in his ribs abated slightly. Cautiously, he looked again at his arm. It had been too severe for the potion to fully heal—it still oozed a sizeable red line of blood—but it was much better.

Ignis gripped Noctis’ forearm with one hand, gently prodding the wound with the other. “This may scar, I’m afraid.” His hand lowered, brushing over Noctis’ ribs. “This one wasn’t as severe, thank goodness.” He released Noctis to summon a roll of bandages from the armoury. “This will have to do until you can take another potion.”

The importance of moderation was something Ignis was always pressing upon them when it came to curatives. Like any analgesic, they could have side effects, especially when taken in excess. An hour between potions, two hours between elixirs: that was the rule they’d agreed upon. Noctis knew from first-hand experience how very not-fun it was to take three potions within a half-hour. Long story short: he didn’t recommend it. So he was fine with sitting there obligingly as Ignis expertly wrapped his arm in gauze.

“I apologise,” Ignis said suddenly.

A little out of it, Noctis started. “Huh? Why?”

“I should have expected the unaccounted-for MT to detect the commotion. Furthermore, I knew you weren’t at your best, yet knowingly sent you into danger.” His tone was angry. Anger at himself, Noctis realised with an uncomfortable jolt.

“Specs… Ignis. It’s not your fault. I sure as hell didn’t expect to go into stasis, so—”

“ _Stasis_?” Ignis paused in his ministrations.

Noctis nodded—slowly, to curtail the persistent ache in his cranium. “Guess I have less magic to throw around when I’m tired. Something new every day, huh?”

“This is… a troubling discovery,” said Ignis, brows tweaked tightly in and down as he resumed bandaging Noctis’ arm.

“What did you _do_ , by the way?” asked Noctis, eager to redirect the conversation. “You got here in less than a second. Like you warped, or something.”

Some of the tension leaked out of Ignis’ face in favour of sheepishness. “Ah—a little experiment of mine. Infusing my blades with thunder magic allows me to… ride the storm, so to speak.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ignis smirked. “Too dangerous for regular combat, however. Magic is as ever indiscriminate.”

“Could come in handy, though,” Noctis said.

“Perhaps.” Ignis stuck down the end of the bandage. “Right then, let’s—”

For the second time that day, Ignis was interrupted, this time by heavy footfalls coming straight for them.

Gladio and Prompto crashed through a shrub, coming up short when they spotted the dead MTs and their friends crouched on the ground, staring at them with matching dour expressions.

“We… saw the dropship!” gasped Prompto, considerably more out of breath than Gladio, whose eyes affixed themselves to Noctis.

“You were supposed to be taking a _break_ , not getting sliced into sashimi!”

The comment was so ridiculous that Noctis couldn’t contain a snort of laughter.

Ignis was not so amused. “You certainly took your time.”

“Fucking _Dino_!” Prompto burst out by way of explanation. “We practically had to climb a mountain and murder a whole nest of territorial sahagins to get to his dumb rock.”

“Well. All’s well that ends well,” Noctis said airily. He tapped Ignis’ arm with the back of his hand. “Help me up?”

“Of course.”

With both hands on his forearms, Ignis helped him stand, holding him steady as a veritable tidal wave of vertigo momentarily shuttered out his vision.

“What’s up with him? Is it that bad?” Gladio asked, voice edged with concern.

“ _He_ can hear you,” Noctis said through teeth grit against the pulsing in his ears. “Let’s just get back to the car.”

“It’s high time we returned to Lestallum,” said Ignis, repositioning himself by Noctis’ side—not holding onto him, but close enough to grab him if he should stumble. “We could all use some decent rest.”

“No arguments here!” Prompto chimed in, taking up position on Noctis’ other side, leaving Gladio to take point.

They stuck close to the stone wall below the road as they walked south, keeping clear of sahagins and killer bees and obscured from view of any aircraft. By the time they reached the stairs up to the road, Noctis was, at long last, fully out of stasis. It had taken longer than he would have liked.

He was relieved as hell to finally slump into the backseat of the Regalia, injured arm held stiffly at his side. He could hear his friends discussing whether or not they’d make it to Lestallum before nightfall, but couldn’t find the energy to form, let alone offer, his own opinion.

Whether he fell asleep or passed out was up for debate, but next he knew, he was being shaken into consciousness by a large, calloused, but gentle hand on his knee.

“C’mon, Noct. Don’t think I won’t carry you if I have to.”

“Don’t you dare,” Noctis groaned, pulling his eyelids open with some effort. It was dusk. They’d made it to Lestallum. The Regalia was parked in their usual spot, and the air was, as per usual, stiflingly humid.

And good _lord_ did Noctis ache. It felt like he was in stasis all over again, the thrumming in his head and steady whine in his joints. His right arm didn’t hurt so much anymore—he figured he’d probably been given a second potion already.

Gladio was still in the car with him, but Ignis and Prompto were nowhere to be seen.

“Where?” Noctis slurred.

“Lestallum. The others have gone ahead to get us a room.” Gladio opened his car door. “Come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can sleep.”

So they’d left Gladio on Noct Duty. Made sense. The only problem was the very real threat of Gladio carrying him bodily all the way to the Leville if he took too long, and Noctis really wasn’t sure his dignity would survive that beating right now.

He opened his own door and stepped out into the soupy heat. The carpark tipped a little. He steadied himself against the Regalia. Okay, this was tedious. Why did he feel _worse_ than before? Even thinking felt like trying to swim through treacle.

“Hurry it up,” said Gladio, not unkindly, putting a firm hand on Noctis’ shoulder and steering him towards the city proper.

Prompto waited for them in the hotel lobby.

“How ya feelin’, Noct?” he asked by way of greeting.

Noctis grunted. Forming a coherent sentence was too much effort.

Prompto chuckled anxiously. “I bet. Ignis has gone to pick up some supplies. Left us orders to get you into bed as soon as possible.”

“No objections there, I’m sure,” Gladio jibed.

Even if he could, Noctis wouldn’t have argued.

Between Gladio’s grip on his shoulder and Prompto’s hand on the small of his back, he was at no risk of falling down the stairs. Small mercies. They took him up to the room and thoughtfully helped him remove his boots and jacket, pulling back the covers of the bed for him. He collapsed into the pillows and was unconscious within a few seconds.

He later surmised that, in the car earlier, he had in fact passed out rather than fallen asleep. His reasoning came largely down to the fact that he hadn’t dreamed.

This time, he dreamed. His dreams made no sense whatsoever, but, in the way that only dreams could, unsettled him nonetheless.

He was in the Regalia with his friends. They were driving through an area that might have been Leide. They came to a roadblock. Ignis parked the car and they all got out.

Some Imperial soldiers approached and looked them over. Their gazes snagged on Noctis’ t-shirt.

“Where was your t-shirt made?” the soldier asked.

“Altissia,” Noctis answered.

The soldiers went off to confer amongst themselves.

“This could be bad,” said Gladio. “They don’t like Altissia.”

Dread started to climb up Noctis’ sternum.

“They may let us off if we compliment their hats,” said Ignis. Noctis was grateful for the brilliant idea.

The soldiers returned. “We’re sorry,” they said. “We have to kill you.”

“But, your hats,” Noctis said, “they’re so cool!”

“Thank you,” said the soldiers, as they readied their guns. “We still have to kill you. It’s protocol.”

Noctis tried to summon a weapon. Nothing happened.

“Noct.” He turned. Prompto had tears in his eyes as a soldier put a gun against his head. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I tripped on the power cable and now the Power of Kings doesn’t work.”

Noctis’ heart tore in two. Desperation gave way to fear and panic. “I forgive you,” he said. “You’re my best friend.”

Prompto nodded and closed his eyes. Noctis felt the cool metal of a gun against his own temple.

He woke with a start, heart thudding uncomfortably hard and fast even as the dreamlike fear receded. He felt warm and trapped and disoriented. The sudden cool hand on his forehead calmed him somewhat.

Ignis perched on the edge of the bed, looking down at him with that commonplace concern.

“I fear you may have come down with something after all,” he said.

“Oops,” Noctis croaked. Now that wakefulness was returning to him, so was the full-body ache. No congestion, though, and no scratch in his throat beyond the grogginess of waking. “Just a fever, I think.”

“Even so. You should eat, if you feel up to it, and you need to stay hydrated.”

Noctis nodded, struggling into a sitting position as Ignis retreated into the kitchenette.

Darkness had fallen in earnest, which meant the temperature had (mercifully) dropped some. A cool night breeze gusted in through the open window. Prompto sat cross-legged on the other bed, phone in his hands. He offered a little wave as Noctis looked over.

“Where’s Gladio?”

“Collecting our bounty,” said Prompto. “And…” his expression turned bitter. “Probably doing what Gladio does best. At night. In Lestallum.”

Noctis rolled his eyes, though it aggravated his headache. “Probably.” Man, his head felt weird—not just the ache, but the strange, persistent dread his nonsensical fever dreams had implanted. But for the aches and pains, he might have thought he was still dreaming.

Ignis returned with a large glass of water and a couple of pills, and told Noctis that it would take a few minutes to heat up some soup. He disappeared into the kitchenette again.

“Looked like you were having an, uh, interesting dream, there,” said Prompto. “You… wanna talk about it?”

Noctis shrugged. “It was weird and didn’t make any sense, but sure.” And he told Prompto the dream.

Prompto’s reaction was to laugh. “Well, geez, dude! I promise to watch where I’m going so I don’t trip on the power cord to the literal Power of Kings.”

Illogically, hearing the words alleviated a tension in Noctis’ chest. He grinned. “Yeah, make sure you do.”

Noctis did his best to eat the broth that Ignis brought him, but he only made it about halfway before his stomach started to protest and his arm stopped working properly. As Ignis took the bowl away, he was pretty sure he heard the door open and Gladio’s deep voice ring out, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. He was forgetting something, he was sure… something to do with doors? Or to do with Gladio? Maybe it was just something out of a movie he’d watched once, if _only_ he could remember what it was called… or what it was about…

Vaguely, he felt himself being manoeuvred into a more comfortable position. Something cool and soothing was lain across his forehead. He was overwhelmed by the feeling that everything was okay.

He dropped off to sleep.

 

At first, he was alarmed to find himself in the Citadel. Then perplexed as to why he should feel that way.

He stopped in the hallway to gaze out the window. The day was overcast, the cityscape an endless expanse of grey in the muted daylight.

“You’d best not keep him waiting.”

An attendant stood behind him, words firm but expression placid.

“Right,” said Noctis, and continued on his way down the hall.

At the end of the hall was a door, but not one Noctis recognised. He looked back to see if the attendant had followed him. He was alone in the hallway. Shrugging, he stepped through the door.

His father stood across the room from him, looking just as Noctis remembered from some of his earliest memories—hair velvety black, face smooth and proud.

“Dad? You wanted to see me?”

Regis looked at him, then turned and left through a door Noctis hadn’t noticed.

“Dad?”

Confused, Noctis hurried through the door to find himself in another Citadel hallway, on a higher floor. Outside, the sun was setting, the sky a mess of orange-red; the city lights just starting to awaken.

The king was already turning the corner at the end of the hall, his hair streaked with grey.

“Dad, wait!” Noctis called, taking off after him. He nearly ran full pelt into the door hidden just around the corner, the door which he wrenched open, stepping through into another hallway. Higher still, looking down on the City of Insomnia, lit up in neon in the depths of night.

Regis, leaning heavily on his cane, disappeared through the door at the end of the hall.

Noctis took chase.

He burst into the throne room, but not the throne room the way Noctis remembered it. To say it was in disrepair would be an understatement. The left-side wall was blown out completely. Debris was scattered everywhere, large chunks of rubble and shards of glass.

King Regis stood, precariously balanced atop the rubble, peering out into the blank night. Grizzled and grey and aged beyond his years.

“Dad!” Noctis called, pausing for breath at the foot of the stairs. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Regis turned and fixed Noctis with a blank stare. “I can’t talk to you, Noctis,” he said. “I’m dead. Remember?”

Before Noctis could process his words, Regis turned and jumped through the gaping hole, out into the dark.

Noctis’ yell tangled in his throat, but before he could scramble up there himself, a distinctive warning chirp rang out from behind him.

For a moment, he felt disoriented. Then, relieved.

“Carbuncle,” he sighed, turning. The little messenger sat in the centre of the floor, looking up at him. “I’m dreaming.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

**> You’ve been having a hard time sleeping lately, huh?**

Noctis sighed as the throne room shifted around him, returning to the pristine splendour of his memory. “Yeah. Something I have to wait out, I think.”

**> If you’re sure… Let me know if you need a little help next time, okay?**

He smiled. “Yeah. Thanks. I mean, I don’t seem to be having any trouble sleeping right now, so… I guess I’m okay.”

Carbuncle chirped, sounding pleased.

Noctis looked over his shoulder at the throne room wall, where before there had been empty air and rubble. “Is that really what the throne room looks like now?”

The buzz of his phone felt somehow more aggressive this time.

**> There are some things you don’t need to know, yet, Noct. Things you don’t need to see.**

“Right,” said Noctis.

Carbuncle chirped again, coming over to rub around Noctis’ ankles.

**> Hey, come on, now! I know it’s hard, but it’s not all bad. Let’s go for a walk.**

Noctis shrugged, and followed Carbuncle through the door out into the nature reserve at the foot of the Citadel. The sun was shining, bright and warm, birds and insects filling the air with their unfathomable melodies. A soft breeze combed through the leaves, carrying the scent of warm earth and the sound of the nearby brook.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a walk here.

**> Your friends worry about you a lot. They express it in different ways.**

“Don’t I know it,” said Noctis. “Gladio gets angry, Prompto gets anxious, and Ignis… well, I don’t think Ignis ever _stops_ worrying.” He sighed. “Making them worry seems to be all I do.”

**> They worry because they care, Noct! But you already knew that, right?**

“Yeah, of course.” He didn’t exactly make it easy for them. He’d apologise if he had any idea how to go about it. He felt he should at least say sorry to Ignis for the frown lines permanently etched into the skin between his eyebrows, at only twenty-two—a product of life in service to an ill-fated prince only two years younger but about ten years dumber.

**> Some things can’t be changed, Noct. And they’re not your fault. You take them too heavily upon yourself.**

“I know,” Noctis sighed. “I wish I didn’t. But I don’t know how not to.”

They’d come to the stream. It must have rained recently, for it was full to its banks, crystalline in the sunlight, carefree in its race across the pebbly riverbed.

Carbuncle leapt up onto a large rock at the stream’s side, cocking its head and chirruping at Noctis.

**> Well, that’s why I’m here! To help you find a little serenity and peace of mind.**

Noctis smiled and climbed up beside Carbuncle. “Thanks. It _is_ pretty serene here.”

**> Everything will turn out fine, Noct. I’ll make sure of it.**

They sat there on the rock, watching the stream and listening to the birds. Breathing in the gently scented air and experiencing a calm which had eluded Noctis for longer than he cared to figure out. He closed his eyes and could believe that the world wasn’t falling apart.

It took him a long moment to realise that he was awake, lying in bed in their hotel room in Lestallum. His clothes, the pillow, and the blankets around him felt sticky and uncomfortable with sweat. Cool air from the open window ghosted across his face, soft snores whistled from across the room, and the weight on the bed beside him shifted slightly.

He opened his eyes, surprised to find that the room wasn’t dark. A bedside lamp was still on. Ignis was sat up on the bed, reading some informational brochure.

As if by some sixth sense, he looked down at Noctis.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, voice hushed out of regard for the other two, no doubt, asleep on the other bed. Gladio may have looked like a bear, but he slept like a cat. Prompto wasn’t much better.

“No,” said Noctis, pushing himself up on his elbows. It was more effort than he would have liked. The ache in his body had dulled to feebleness. “What time is it?”

“A little after two in the morning,” Ignis answered, helping Noctis sit up properly. “Your fever broke about twenty minutes ago.”

“I can tell,” said Noctis, pushing his sweat-sodden hair out of his face. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He freed his legs from the blankets and stood, carefully, wary of how shaky he was. He didn’t fall over right away, at least, so that was a good sign.

“Need a hand?” asked Ignis, poised and ready to leap up and help.

“What? No! I’m capable of showering myself, Ignis.” He also _really_ needed to piss. He may have been a little unsteady, but he made it to the bathroom door without falling over.

“Just don’t turn the temperature up too high,” Ignis reminded him.

Noctis shot him a thumbs-up and received a weary smile in return.

By the time he’d relieved himself, showered, pulled on dry pyjamas and run a toothbrush around his mouth, Noctis felt much better; more _human_ , if that made sense. And more than ready to crawl back into bed and sleep for about a week.

Ignis was still awake. Noctis would think he hadn’t even moved if not for the new addition of a glass of water on Noctis’ bedside table. He knew if he drank it he’d have to get up again in a few hours, but… his dry throat left no room for argument. He downed the whole thing in one go.

On the other bed, Gladio was sprawled out, snoring, relegating poor Prompto to a sliver of mattress, curled on his side and occasionally twitching like a dreaming puppy. They frequently switched up their sleeping arrangements. Tonight, Noctis suspected that Ignis had wanted to keep an eye on him. This particular configuration made the most sense to Noctis, with Gladio being the largest and Prompto the smallest (height-wise, at least). But, also, Noctis had shared a bed with each of his three friends at some point in time, and knew that while Gladio took up a lot of room, Prompto tended to fidget and roll around a lot in his sleep. (Their complaints about each other on mornings after they shared were, without fail, hilarious). Ignis was a happy medium. Not to mention that, of the three, Ignis felt the most like home.

Noctis himself slept like a rock. When he actually slept.

He flopped face-first onto the bed at Ignis’ side.

“Feeling better?” Ignis asked softly.

“Much,” said Noctis, turning his head on the pillow to look up at Ignis. He nodded at the brochure on Ignis’ lap. “That looks riveting.”

Ignis let out a breathy sound which may have been a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. “Apparently, scientists still don’t know much about the power contained within the meteor.” He set the brochure aside. “Only that it can be harnessed.”

“Using power they don’t understand,” Noctis mused. “Relatable.”

Ignis smiled down at Noctis, a smile which was small and amused and strained. And short-lived. Perhaps it was just the lighting, or Noctis’ imagination, but those two little divots between Ignis’ eyebrows looked deeper than ever.

After a quiet moment, Ignis reached over to brush the damp hair out of Noctis’ eyes.

“We have this room for the next couple of days,” he said. “We could all use the rest.”

Noctis hummed. “You don’t seem to be doing much resting.”

“I’ve been… distracted. I suppose.”

“Sorry,” said Noctis, eyes averted, voice barely a whisper.

Ignis frowned. “Whatever for? You can hardly control the circumstances.”

He fidgeted. “I know, it’s just…” He swallowed. How did he even begin to explain? “I’m sorry anyway. I’m the lynchpin in this whole mess and when I fall apart, so does everything else.”

“You may be mixing your metaphors a bit, but nonetheless. You have nothing to apologise for.” Ignis’ fingers twined in Noctis’ hair, his hand a comforting weight on his head. “You owe nothing to anyone. Least of all to me.”

“I owe everything to you,” Noctis breathed. “And to Gladio and Prompto. Luna. My dad.” He paused. “Umbra and Pryna, Gentiana, Carbuncle.”

Ignis’ brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Noctis smiled. “Yeah. I’m gonna make things right.”

“And you won’t be alone."

“Never.”

Ignis’ next smile was as genuine as Noctis’ own; a sight for sore eyes, indeed. “Get some sleep,” he said.

“You, too.”

Ignis reached over and turned off the lamp. The blankets rustled and the mattress shifted as he resettled himself in the bed.

Silence reintroduced itself. Noctis reached into the darkness and found Ignis’ hand, smooth-skinned and bony and warm atop the mattress.

_A little serenity,_  he thought to himself as he drifted off once more. _Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> And then they lived happily ever after. There was definitely nothing awful waiting for them on the horizon.
> 
> Man. This started off as one thing, then really got away from me. Then, just when I thought I had it back under control, it spiralled off again. I... really didn't expect Carbuncle to show up? Yeah. This is what happens when you start writing a fic at 5am to vent your exhausted frustration with your own inability to sleep. And then continue indefinitely with no plan. Projection? Me? Noooooo. Never.
> 
> Anyway, I've been trying my hand at the tumblr thing so hit me up at [voxanonymi](https://voxanonymi.tumblr.com/) if you're interested. Eventually I might start taking requests/prompts. Not right now, because life troubles, start-of-the-year administration, writing projects, etc have me occupied, but. Eventually. Hopefully. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


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